


Barfly

by ThrowTheDice



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 05:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrowTheDice/pseuds/ThrowTheDice
Summary: Written in response to a prompt from someone-who-is-there on tumblr"Normal girl from Dallas, living her best life. One day, she finds herself in a bar, people listening to country music, drinking, dancing, having fun... the sound of a chainsaw catches her attention. The door of the bar is swiftly destroyed, a hunky man swinging a chainsaw around. Another man comes in, talking about revenge on the bar owner, laughing maniacally... the hunky man notices you, and your heart starts beating faster. Maybe Bubba Sawyer x reader NSFW? :3"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to my tumblr, but I'm crossposting here ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ The song I imagined playing in the bar is Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits.

It had been a wild night. None of your friends had been available to go out, but that hadn’t stopped you. You were young and looking for action, excitement, something to spice up the humdrum of everyday life. You found yourself at a small bar that you didn’t typically visit.

It was late, certainly later than you had planned to be out by yourself. Last call was breathing down your neck, and you could tell that the cantankerous proprietor and acting bartender was chomping at the bit to kick those of you still finishing your drinks out. Any minute he would tell you to settle your tabs and clear out.

You looked around the small bar, better able to take it in now that your inebriation had dulled to a slight buzz. It was all old wood panelling and aged furniture. A haze of cigarette smoke seemed to hang in the dimly lit space despite the numerous No Smoking signs posted on the walls and doors. A single light above the jukebox flickered on and off as the machine spun out the mellowed jazzy sound of a guitar that hung in the air thicker than the smoke.

The remaining patrons of the establishment were a motley crew, each varying levels of drunken and haggard, and each sure to be sporting a fierce hangover in the coming hours. You found that you were the youngest person left in the bar, and the one that fit in the least. You were a young woman looking for a good time and rounding out her night of bar crawling, not a hardened alcoholic looking for an escape amongst strangers.

The space had gone through quite the shift over the course of only a couple hours. When you had rolled up to the bar, the gravel parking lot had been packed with cars. Those populating the building were a mix of regulars and people drawn in by the flickering of the near ancient sign illuminated by neon letters. You recalled thinking that they had to be breaking some sort of fire code when you had forced your way into the middle of the mass of bodies dancing to the twangy notes of some southern songstress on the dancefloor. You had danced and laughed and drank, making new friends for the night with the girls exchanging drunken compliments in the bathroom as they did more harm than good while trying to fix their makeup in the tarnished, cracked mirror.

Your fleeting friends had long since disappeared into the night, and now you sat alone at one end of the dingy bar with one hand propping up your chin and the other wrapped around the once cold glass of a half-finished beer mug. Your arms and legs felt heavy, and your skin was coated in a layer of dust and dirt adhered by your own cooled sweat. You didn’t dare even glance towards any reflective surface, sure that what had once been an alluring smokey eye now gave you the appearance of a raccoon and that your hair was a tangled mess. You knew that you should settle up and head home, the softness and warmth of your bed calling to your exhausted body, but you couldn’t bring yourself to motion the barkeep over. 

The relative quiet stillness of the bar was shattered by what sounded like a chainsaw revving outside the door. Around you, the barflies all looked up. You weren’t familiar with the area, but you had a feeling that chainsaws weren’t an average occurrence at this time of night.

“What the hell is all that racket?” The gruffness of the bartender’s voice cut through the roar of the unexpected saw.

He rounded the bar, brushing by you and making a beeline for the door. The thump of his boots covered both the din of the mechanical growl and the already drowned out lilt of music. All the patrons were silent, watching with curiosity and confusion as the old man went to confront whoever was disturbing the tenuous peace that can only be found at the end of a long night. The chainsaw had only gotten louder as the moments rolled on, and as the proprietor drew closer to the door it sounded like whoever was wielding the dangerous implement was basically already inside.

You watched the old man’s sure steps falter as he neared the door. The initial rage he had felt must have died when he realized the implications of facing an unknown person with a potentially deadly weapon. He hesitated, hand reaching for the knob but frozen mid air. The bar itself seemed to hold its breath with anxious anticipation of what would happen next.

Then the door exploded.

A shower of wood and splinters flew through the air, pelting the old man and startling everyone. Someone dropped a glass, but the sound of it shattering was masked by the roaring buzz of a chainsaw that echoed through your head and vibrated through your body. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you watched him fall to the ground and debris fly through the air.

The man that stepped through the ruins of the door was massive, easily nearing six and a half feet tall. He loomed over the now terrified old bartender with the chainsaw you had heard prior raised above his head. He appeared to be wearing some kind of mask. There was little time to consider him further before a smaller man scampered in behind him. This new man seemed jittery, twitchy and somehow scared you more than the one with the  _ literal chainsaw _ .

The chainsaw ground to a halt, and the bar was suddenly almost unnervingly quiet. You, along with the other patrons, were frozen with shock as this all played out before you. The small man stood over the old man, tittering excitedly and pointing what appeared to be a bent metal coat hanger at the prone male.

“Do you remember me?” He seemed to struggle with the words, stuttering slightly. “You kicked me out after taking my money. I was just trying to listen to music, man!”

The bartender seemed to remember his prior rage, though he seemed much less intimidating on the floor. “Yeah, I remember you! You almost broke my damn jukebox!”

“Music is my life, man, and you were disrespecting it!”

The old man began to attempt to struggle to his feet. “I’ll kick you out again! You and whatever the hell  _ that _ is,” he growled, jerking his chin in the direction of the mountain of a man that now cradled the chainsaw with a surprising amount of delicacy.

Faster than your eye could follow, the jittery man pulled a ball-peen hammer out of thin air and with a loud  _ crack! _ he brought it down hard on the other man’s balding head. With this single violent action, the entire bar erupted with activity. You sucked in a harsh gasp, hardly able to grasp what exactly you bore witness to. The men a little ways down the bar from you shot to their feet, moving to assist the man that was now under attack. This prompted the grinding growl of whirring teeth as the chainsaw was coaxed back to life.

“Get ‘em, Leatherface!” The rat-like man howled, shaking the bloodied hammer in the direction of the bar.

You were on your feet and running for the back before your mind could catch up with your instincts. You sprinted towards the cramped hallway that housed the bathrooms and what you had assumed was a back door. It was mere seconds before you heard screaming and the horrible wet sound of flesh being carved through. You whimpered as you threw yourself at the back entrance, becoming more and more desperate as you realized that it wasn’t budging. 

To your horror, as you examined the door, you found a thick padlock sealing it shut. You pulled uselessly on it, knowing that it was futile but not knowing what else you could hope to do. The screaming quieted to moaning, which died into silence in the main bar room. Your struggles with the lock grew more desperate, but were still just as ineffective.

“Where’s the girl? Go get the girl!”

Your heart was in your throat when you heard those words from the strange man. An affirmative noise came from the other man. You were crying then, though you tried to quiet your sobs. The lock was going nowhere and your only option was to hide.

You ducked into the bathroom, cursing the way your boots slipped against the smooth tile. You ran to the last stall in the row, closing the door behind you, locking it, and balancing on the edge of the toilet seat with your knees pulled up to your chest. You knew it was silly, that the large man with the chainsaw would find you easily and hack you to bits, but you were scared, still slightly intoxicated, and completely out of ideas.

You heard the bathroom door slam open and had to stifle a whimper with your trembling hands. The chainsaw was turned off, and the only sound was his heavy footsteps on the dirty tile. There was a loud  _ bang!  _ as the door to the first stall was thrown open. The same happened with the second, then the third, and then you could see his boots underneath the door in front of you. 

He pushed lightly on the door, probably expecting it to swing open as easily as the others had. When it didn’t budge, he pounded against it with a single meaty fist. The flimsy lock did not stand a chance. You yelped and tried to push yourself even further back, coming dangerously close to tumbling into the toilet bowl.

As the stall door slammed against the wall, you got a good look at the large man for the first time that night. The fluorescent bathroom lights haloed his bulky form. He was dressed up in a nice black suit, white button up shirt soaked with sweat and dust from his destruction of the front door. You realized with a sick jolt that what you had thought was a halloween mask of some sort appeared to be a second face worn over top of his own, a  _ human  _ face.

He pulled back on the cord of the chainsaw and it made a grinding sound but did not start. You knew that you had reached the end of the line. If he could get the mechanical tool going, you would become quickly and intimately acquainted with the acute pain that the whirring metal teeth of the saw could cause. As a last ditch effort, you did the only thing you could think of.

“Stop that!” You said as sternly as you could, trying to look as confident as a person cowering on a toilet was capable of.

He looked at you with more than a little confusion, but he didn’t pull the ripcord again. You took this as a good sign. You swallowed thickly, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and fear tingling across your nerves. 

“What’s your name?” Your voice sounded tremulous in your ears.

He looked around in a way that almost seemed nervous. He half shrugged and fiddled with the chainsaw. It seemed like he wanted to answer your question, but that he couldn’t find the words.

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m [Y/N],” you continued, not wanting him to get upset.

He lowered the bloodied chainsaw a little further, and hope swelled in your chest. He babbled something that was near incomprehensible, but the more optimistic part of your brain translated it as a repetition of your name. You smiled and nodded with more force than was necessary.

He seemed conflicted, shifting his weight and glancing back and forth between you and the door. When he was looking at you, you could feel his deep walnut colored eyes travel over you. He seemed particularly appreciative of your bare legs beneath your denim shorts when you slowly lowered them to the ground to steady yourself, as that was where his hesitant gaze lingered the longest.

Finally, he seemed to decide what to do with you. He dropped to his knees in front of you, motioning for you to stay where you were with one upheld hand. He yammered and babbled at you, and while you couldn’t understand what exactly he was trying to say, you could surmise his general intent and stayed put. Even kneeling, he was nearly eye-level with you as you sat on the edge of the toilet seat.

Maybe it was the alcohol still left in your system or maybe you were finally losing your mind, but at this proximity you could make out some of his features beneath the stolen face and you found yourself admiring what you saw. He had wide, dark eyes that followed your every move and searched your face. You could just see the shape of his mouth through the hole in the mask. Every time he babbled at you, you were granted a glimpse of misshapen and misaligned teeth. However, his lips were full and plump, glistening where his pink tongue darted out to lick nervously.

You watched him peel off his black gloves. His hands were much like the rest of him, meaty and strong. His fingers were short and stubby, but nearly as thick as two of your own. You nearly slapped yourself when you caught your mind wandering to how those fingers would feel against and  _ inside  _ you. All you could hope was that he wouldn’t notice the way your face suddenly reddened. You needn’t have worried, as he was focused on his new task. He dragged those same fingers you were admiring across the bloodied guide bar, collecting the cooling red substance on their tips.

When he reached towards you with his now blood-soaked hands you fought against all of your instincts that screamed for you to recoil. You could not suppress, however, the shuddering breath that left you when you felt the odd sticky warmth of blood smeared across your face. You wanted to grasp his wrist, to stop him, but he looked at you with such focus and intensity that you did not. Once your cheeks, forehead, and chin were sufficiently covered, he collected more of the macabre paint and spread it over your neck and chest. You whined in protest when he smeared the crimson over your shirt, surely ruining it, but he cut off your complaints with a huffed noise of warning.

Once he was done, he took a moment to sit back on his heels and admire his work. You were sure that you were now just a bloodied mess of gore and viscera. He nodded slightly before standing and lifting the chainsaw once more. You watched with confusion as he fumbled with it for a moment before yanking on the ripcord. You screamed then, sure that after all the hope and whatever had just happened, he was going to kill you anyway. He yelled too, waving the tool above his head before swinging it back and forth.

The whirring teeth never found you. He destroyed the wooden stall doors and broke the porcelain tiles. Your screams quieted as you watched the swathe of destruction he cleaved through the space. You realized he had no intention of hurting you, but that he was making a show of it for someone, probably the other man out front. Finally, when he was content with the scope of his demolition, he let the motor sputter and die. Then there was silence with the exception of his labored breathing.

He made a series of hurried motions which you somehow understood to mean “play dead”. Your intention was to slump back against the back of the toilet and go limp, but before you could do that one of his muscled arms found your waist and he was hoisting you over his shoulder. You nearly shrieked at the sudden motion, but remembered just in time that you were supposed to be dead. You let yourself go slack, arms dangling down his back as your knees pressed into his chest and his shoulder dug into your midsection.

He carried you from the bathroom and back into the bar. If he bumped your pliant form into a doorway or two, or if the steadying hand on your thigh was just a bit higher than you suspected was necessary, you didn’t say anything. You squeezed your eyes shut so that you would not have to see the carnage that you were sure was spread across the dancefloor. Your willful blindness did little to prevent the assault of the scent of copper from invading your senses, you could all but taste the blood on your tongue.

“Bubba!” So that was his name. “You got her?”

You felt the man-- Bubba-- nod.

“I got mine too! Let’s get ‘em in the truck.”

You kept your eyes clamped shut and your extremities limp for the entirety of the process. You were laid gently on the hard surface of what you surmised was the bed of a truck, followed quickly by a number of heavy thuds and disgusting squishing noises. You felt the vehicle shift under the added weight. Idly you wondered how they planned to dispose of the bodies. That was what you assumed they were planning, to hide the evidence of their crimes. 

Blood pooled as it spilled from the multitude of wounds on the corpses, spreading to where Bubba had placed you. The warmth of it seeped into your clothing and hair, you fought the urge to gag. Someone patted your leg comfortingly before a tarp was thrown over the grizzly scene in the back of the truck, trapping you in with the smell of death. You were too afraid to open your eyes even when the engine started and two doors slammed shut.

The vehicle jolted forward, across the gravel of the parking lot and out onto the open road. You did not think to pay attention to the direction you were travelling or the times the truck turned. For the most part, your mind was blank. There was only one thought repeating itself in your head:

This was not the kind of excitement you had been looking for when you left your home earlier that evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the smut chapter (ﾉ∀`♥)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love the atmosphere of Texas Battle Land in TCM2, nothing will top the original Sawyer house for me so we’re just pretending that that somehow fits into this timeline wise. Shhh it’s fine.

When you arrived at your apparent destination, the big man, Bubba, quickly unloaded the corpses from the back of the truck. As the crinkling of the aged, faded blue tarp stopped, you chanced a peek through your lashes at your surroundings. Laying on your back as you were, you were greeted to the clear expanse of the star-speckled Texas night sky. The blood pool that had spilled and flooded around you had begun to cool and coagulate. It felt thick and sticky on your skin, and you fought against the urge to shudder, unsure if the other man was still around. The sound of a screen door slamming nearby had your heart in your throat.

“Where have you boys been?!” This new voice sounded like it belonged to an older man. “Did anyone see you?”

There was a rather antagonistic squabbling sort of conversation between the strange man from the bar and this new older man. Bubba continued dutifully unloading corpses and taking them somewhere unseen. Between his efficiency and the way that the other two spoke to each other, you got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time they had all done something like this. You shied away from acknowledging that they had murdered those people. You did not want to think about the fact that Bubba had let you live while cutting down so many others.

When finally you were the last “body” left in the truck bed, Bubba returned and hoisted you up onto his shoulder once more. His dark coat smelled strongly of musky sweat and the coppery tang of blood. The heavy falls of his boots against creaking, aged wood let you know that you had entered what you assumed was a house. You felt him hesitate briefly, and then mount a set of groaning stairs. Rusting hinges shrieked in protest as he pushed open a door and closed it behind him. 

He set you gently on the soft, spongy surface of a quilt-covered bed. You opened your eyes slowly to find him standing over you, observing you with a tilted head while he wrung his thick hands. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to observe your surroundings.

The room itself was fairly barren. The multi-colored quilt beneath you supplied the only real color. White paint flaked off of the iron bed frame, and the small distressed nightstand boasted only an antique ceramic table lamp with a bent and crooked shade. The walls were covered in peeling, yellowed paper. In the corners and along the baseboards the top layer had pulled away to reveal older layers of equally yellowed floral paper. A wardrobe loomed in one corner of the room, the flowers carved on its doors appeared to have been painted over by a child-like hand. The lone window in the room looked to have been caulked and painted shut, with old newspaper pasted over the glass.

You looked once more to the man-- Bubba, you reminded yourself again. He watched as you took in your surroundings, shuffling his weight and eyeing you anxiously. He seemed at a loss, not sure what to do now that he had you here, in what you assumed was his room. You were just as lost. What was to happen now? He had spared you, taken you home with him, but you had no idea what would come next.

He murmured a few more indecipherable, babbled words and nodded his head as if he had settled upon some decision. A few hurried hand motions indicated for you to stay put. He turned and left the room, and when the door closed behind him the sound of a key in the lock was near deafening in its finality.

It had been months since that night. Your time in captivity was… different than you expected. At first he treated you like a child would treat a favorite doll. Each night, he would dress you up in different clothes and apply any number of various makeups to your face. You learned slowly to interpret the sounds he made. You came to understand his squeals of delight just as well as his huffs and grunts of displeasure.

Every couple nights, once he was certain the rest of his family was asleep, he would smuggle you into the big bathroom. He would draw a bath and then help you to undress, before placing you gently into the hot water. He used a washcloth to scrub at your skin, and ran his thick fingers through your wet hair. On these nights, you could not help but to feel conflicted.

You were undeniably a captive, here against your will, but he was so kind to you, so gentle. You looked forward to the times that he would come to the room, felt your heart skip with excitement as he fussed over and showered you with attention. He brought you food, and though you had begun to suspect what exactly he was feeding you, you tried not to think about it, focusing only on the enthusiasm with which he fed it to you.

At first when it was time for bed, he would retreat from the room to some unknown place to sleep, leaving you to the bed, his bed. After a few weeks, you had halted his retreat with a gentle hand and a timid “Stay.” You had not slept alone since. He held you to him like he was afraid that you would slip away into the balmy summer night. His arms were strong around your waist, and his stomach was soft against your back.

You would be lying if you said that you weren’t shocked the first time you woke to feel his hips grinding into yours in his sleep. His hardness burned against the curve of your ass, causing heat to rush to your face. The more lascivious part of your mind brought to bear those traitorous thoughts that had filtered through your consciousness in that dirty bathroom all those months ago. 

You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Did he think about taking you in all the ways you wanted him to take you? Did his unconscious mind tempt him with conjured images of you panting and moaning beneath him? A secret part of your heart hoped that was the case.

You dragged a hand over your own heated flesh, starting at your neck where your pulse hammered. You ghosted your fingertips across your collarbones, downwards to cup your breasts and thumb the aching peaks of your nipples through the fabric of the gauzy nightgown Bubba had gifted you. He panted against the back of your neck as he continued to rut against you, and you slid your hand over your stomach, hesitating when your wandering fingers found the band of your panties. Your hesitation was short lived. Spurred on by the litany of sinful sounds coming from the large man at your back, you soon found yourself biting down on your lower lip to stifle your own pleasured sounds.

This was your nightly ritual for a near absurd amount of time. You burned constantly, and it wasn’t from the heavy heat of the Texas sun. Trapped in that room as you were, you had only your thoughts for company, and they were all too happy to produce less than innocent daydreams about your captor. Your own touch could only do so much for the simmering desire that bubbled in your core day in and day out.

You were engaged in a rather intense self-love session when things finally came to a head. You had your head thrown back and the hand that wasn’t dipping between your dripping folds covered your mouth to muffle your harsh breathing. You curled your fingers into yourself and drew in a shuddering breath, causing you to miss the sound of the key turning in the lock. You couldn’t possibly miss the shriek of the hinges as Bubba excitedly threw open the door to bring you your lunch far earlier than you expected.

You nearly snapped your own neck with how quickly your head shot upwards as you clamped your trembling thighs together, a gasp of surprise leaving your bitten lips. Your wide eyes met Bubba’s. He was frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights, one hand still on the dented brass doorknob and the other holding a heaping plate of leftover roast from the night prior. Horror and embarrassment flooded through you as you realized the state you were in. Your clothes had been discarded, but you had wrapped yourself in one of Bubba’s shirts that you had pilfered from the wardrobe. Your panties hung from one of your ankles, and you were sure that your skin was flushed with color caused both by your previous activities and your mortification at being caught.

The silence stretched on, it seemed that Bubba had turned to stone in the doorway and your tongue was suddenly far too heavy in your mouth to function. Oh god, what the hell were you supposed to do now? You wanted nothing more than for the bed to swallow you whole and then sink into the ground. You clamped your eyes shut and willed the world to end.

A whine from the man still standing in the door prompted you to open your eyes. You allowed yourself to peek at him, only for your eyes to widen once more. Bubba’s hand on the knob trembled with the strength of his grip. You followed the taut lines of his tensed body to the rather unmistakeable bulge in his dark pants. You could not stop yourself from licking your lips.

Though still embarrassed, you felt a certain sort of pride knowing that you had that effect on him. Taking a deep breath, you relaxed your legs and allowed them to spread as they had before. You watched his eyes follow the slope of your thighs to their now exposed apex. He shifted uncomfortably, no doubt feeling the confinement of his pants and the tightening of his collar.

He had seen you naked before, but these circumstances were undeniably different from when he bathed and dressed you. You waited with bated breath for him to accept or reject your silent offer, but he was stock-still, cemented to his place in the doorway. The silence was stifling, your own pulse rushed in your ears and your breathing was suddenly far too loud.

“Bubba,” you basically moaned. “Please... come here.”

Your words jolted him into action. He nearly slammed the door shut with the force he used to close it. He hurriedly shoved the plate of food onto the nightstand, almost knocking the already damaged lamp to the floor. Once he was standing over you, he seemed unsure what to do. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, looking to you for guidance. Normally, you found his demeanor endearing, but right now it was driving you crazy. You wanted him to touch you, to fuck you, and his hesitation was keeping you on edge. 

You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, kicking your panties to some far-flung corner of the room as you stood up in front of him. You were basically chest to chest now, or as close as you could be with Bubba towering over you. You placed your hands on his chest, reveling in the feeling of his heart jackhammering against your palm. You slid your hands upwards to loop your arms around his neck, pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes to do so. You were a little nervous about trying to kiss him through the mask, but you also knew that you weren’t going to get him to take it off. Throwing your concerns to the wind, you closed your eyes and the distance.

It was strange kissing him through the barrier of stolen skin covering his features, but his thick lips against your own felt so nice that you were willing to ignore the oddity of it. His hands were quick to find your hips as he responded to the kiss enthusiastically, pulling you harder against him. He felt so warm against you. You were drowning in his shirt, but you could still feel the heat of his form through the thin material. You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he was far too overdressed for your taste.

You pulled away from his mouth and he whined, trying to follow and recapture your lips, but you were focused on your new mission. Your hurried fingers worked impatiently to free him of his tie and begin undoing the buttons on his shirt as quickly as possible. He brought his own hands up to your shoulders and for one heart-stopping moment you thought that he was going to push you away, but it was soon apparent that he was simply trying to divest you of his shirt hanging loosely on your body. You shrugged out of it, letting the material fall to the floor around your feet so that you could continue undressing him. He cooperated through the rest of the process, watching you with what could only be described as awe and seemingly as eager as you to have clothing out of the way.

When finally you had yanked his pants and underwear down his thick legs and he had stepped out of the material, you had a chance to look at him. His chest and stomach were covered in the same dark hair that was on his arms and legs. A trail of that same coarse hair led down to the cock that you had been fantasizing about for weeks. Seeing it was a completely different experience from feeling it rubbing against your ass in the middle of the night. 

He wasn’t the longest you had ever seen, but he was certainly the thickest. You were a little afraid of the undoubtedly tight fit taking him would be, but you could not deny the way that your mouth watered at the thought. You briefly considered taking him into you mouth and working him like that until your jaw was sore and he was seeing stars, but thought better of that line of action for the time being. You were dripping for him and he was obviously painfully hard already, making you a little too impatient. Another time, you promised yourself.

You rose to stand and placed your hands back on his chest in order to maneuver him between you and the bed. You encouraged him to sit on the mattress and he did so without question, apparently excited to see what you would do next. You forced yourself to go slowly, stepping forward to take his face in your hands and leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. His own hands found your thighs and ass, kneading the flesh there and causing you to moan quietly against his lips.

Without breaking the kiss, you moved to straddle his thighs, spreading your legs to accommodate him as your knees dug into the mattress. A shaky sigh escaped you as your lower lips brushed against his length, smearing your wetness across his hardened flesh. He groaned at the feeling, gripping you harder and thrusting his hips slightly. 

You reached between the two of you and took him in your hand, causing him to inhale sharply at the feeling of your soft fingers around him. You lined his cock up with your entrance and began to lower yourself onto him. At the first feeling of your velvet heat around the head of his cock, Bubba tried to buck up into you, halted only by your hands holding his hips down.

“Slowly,” you breathed against his lips.

He whined, but made no further attempts to force you down onto his throbbing length, so you continued your slow descent unimpeded. He was just as thick as he looked, and the stretch you felt as you took him was near painful. You thought wistfully that perhaps you should not have forgone the foreplay and had him stretch you with his plump fingers as you had fantasized about before. Your own fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles into the bundle of nerves and easing the pain of the stretch. When finally you sat down against his lap with his length fully inside of your aching heat, you stilled. You looked at Bubba and felt a flush of pride in yourself over the rapturous look you found.

You thought nothing could be better than his expression, but when you began to move, he began to moan. The sound was pure music to your ears. You raised yourself nearly all the way off of his cock before dropping back down, now fully able to enjoy the way that he filled you. His grip on your hips was tight enough that you knew there would be bruises later, but in that moment you couldn’t have cared less. As you increased the speed with which you rode him, the frequency and intensity of his noises increased as well.

You loved it. You loved knowing that you were the one making him feel so good, and you loved the way he felt inside of you. All of your fantasies combined couldn’t compare to the way it felt to finally have him like this. When he began to get too loud though, you worried that one of the others might hear. You leaned in and sealed his lips with your own, swallowing his noises and enjoying the way his mouth moved against yours.

You knew that he was close, but you were close too. You felt that familiar heat building and tightening in your core. You bounced on him faster, rubbing your clit near desperately. You tore your mouth away from his, tilting your head back and panting heavily. You were so close, so so close.

He buried his forehead in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and groaned loudly into your skin. You felt him spill inside you, the heat flooding you and coating your walls. That sensation finally, blissfully pushed you over the edge and you had to bite your lip to stifle the pleasured sound that threatened to escape as the knot in your abdomen burst. 

You all but collapsed against Bubba, breathing heavily and going limp as you looped your arms over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly while leaning heavily on your shoulder. He was still inside you, but that didn’t stop your combined fluids from dripping out around him.

If this was what captivity was like, you hoped he never let you go.


End file.
